


Tyrell Roses

by sunkelles



Series: Sansa/All the Ladies [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Humor, Modern Westeros, Modern Westeros AU, Sansa worries a lot about whether or not her feelings are requited, Sansa-centric, that's it that's the fic, while Margaery basically just blatantly flirts with her the whole time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:03:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Margaery runs a flower shop and Sansa is crushing hardcore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tyrell Roses

**Author's Note:**

> So this au has probably been done before. If so, I apologize to the person who did it first.  
> A few things that are noteworthy.  
> Joffrey never happened. WOOHOOO  
> and this is a modern Westeros au.

Sansa sighs as she lies down on the couch in her new apartment. The walls are bare and white as snow, and not even her furniture has made her new rooms feel like a home. The television plays softly in the background, barely masking the silence. She forces herself up and opens the drapes, but the natural sunlight doesn’t help. She feels alone.

Sansa supposes it’s just the onset of separation anxiety. She has never really been away from home for a long period of time, and she has certainly never been this far away from her family. She sighs, pulls the drapes closed, and decides to take a walk. Maybe some Southron air can clear her head.

* * *

 

 

The early spring weather in Oldtown feels warmer than most summer days in Wintertown, and Sansa dresses accordingly, in a t-shirt and shorts. The trees are just starting to bud out, and the grass is starting to spring back into life. If there is one thing that Sansa is enjoying about the South it is the warmth. She never got much of it up North, especially during this last winter.

None of the shops catch her eye until she sees one with a large, golden rose painted on the sign. Sansa smiles to herself, thinking that flowers would be the perfect way to brighten up her new apartment, and then opens the door to the shop. The bell rings in reply, and Sansa steps into the shop. The florescent lights are hard on her eyes, as is the interior that looks as though it has not been updated since Sansa’s _parents_ were in college. The brown-haired woman behind the fading wood counter, however, is not hard on the eyes. She turns to Sansa, and greets her with a smile.

“What can I interest you in?” she asks, a smile tugging at her lips. The girl’s curly brown hair is tied up into a messy ponytail, but she’s still one of the most gorgeous women Sansa has ever seen. Suddenly, Sansa feels ridiculous. What sort of person buys flowers for herself? Her apparently. Sansa Stark, left to her own devices, is a sad, pathetic creature.

“I wanted to get some flowers to brighten up my apartment,” Sansa admits, “I only moved in a few days ago and it feels sort of, well, dead.”

“Where did you move from?” The girl asks, presumably making a bit of small talk to fill the silence.

“Wintertown,” Sansa says, and pauses for a moment before she adds, “it’s certainly different here.”

“I’d assume so,” the woman says with a melodious laugh that Sansa could get used to hearing.

“I’ve never been North of the Neck, but it was certainly much colder up in Seaguard,” she says. Then, the woman flutters to the back of the shop and emerges with a bouquet of icy blue roses.

“Winter roses,” the girl says, “Thought they might remind you of home.” Sansa feels something warm curl in her heart.

“Thank you,” Sansa says, and then she remembers herself. She actually has to pay.

“How much do I owe you?” She asks. The girl laughs and then smiles at Sansa.

“It’s on the house,” the woman tells her, “just as long as you promise to come in soon. My name’s Margaery Tyrell.”

Sansa blushes, but she nods.

“My name is Sansa Stark,” she says.

The girl sends her a smile, almost slyly, and says, “I hope to see you soon, Sansa Stark.” The girl winks at her, a twinkle in her warm, brown eyes, and Sansa wonders for a moment if Margaery could have been _flirting_ with her.

* * *

 

 

Sansa’s classes start a few days later, and she almost forgets to return to the flower shop for a week. She stops by about five days later, after finishing her second day at her Valyrian poetry class. It goes well, though butterflies dance around in Sansa’s stomach the entire time.

* * *

 

 

Sansa ends up stopping by every Tuesday and Thursday after her poetry class, and they talk about everything from the latest adaptation of _The Prince(ess) Who Was Promised_ to Old Valyrian poetry to their futures. Margaery was working on a degree in political science when she decided to try to restart her mother’s flower shop. She ended up liking it so well she didn’t want to continue with politics.

“So your grandmother wanted to help you run for president, and you decided to run your mother’s old flower shop?” Sansa asks, more curious than accusatory.

Margaery smiles at her, half sad and half nostalgic.

“It wasn’t really what I wanted,” she says.

“I don’t actually want to be in the spotlight like that, make decisions for the entire nation. Plus, I wouldn’t have been able to be myself,” she says. The look she sends Sansa contains a conglomeration of emotions that Sansa can’t read. Sansa considers asking how, but she decides against it. If Marg wanted to share with her, then she would have shared with her.

Sansa glances at the old, analog clock at the front of the shop.

“I’m sorry, Marg,” she says, grabbing her backpack off the lone, aging chair in the front of her shop, “but I’ve got to go get ready for work. See you Thursday?”

“Thursday,” the other woman agrees, though she sounds slightly disappointed. Sansa doesn’t take the time to worry about it as she rushes out the door, the door ringing as she opens it to leave.

* * *

 

 

The conversation is flowing freely a few weeks later, until Margaery finally brings up a topic that always comes up: Sansa’s ill-omened name.

“But for real,” Margaery asks with a hint of a smirk, “Sansa Stark? Didn’t your parents think that name might bring you bad luck?"

Sansa laughs, “My mom named my older brother Robb before she realized. Dad thought it was so funny they ended up naming us all after that generation of Starks.”

“Really?” Marg asks with a laugh.

“Gods, I hope that your brother doesn’t break any marriage agreements,” she says. Sansa laughs. The joke is old and tired, but somehow it’s almost funny again coming from Margaery’s lips.

"My father told me not to try to tame any direwolves," Sansa says with a turn of her head and a grin. Margaery laughs loudly this time, and Sansa can’t help herself from joining in. Marg’s laughter can be infectious. She’s surprised that the whole world doesn’t laugh in sync with her.

“But really,” the woman says, “I think your parents are just trying to tempt fate.”

“You’re one to talk, Margaery Tyrell,” Sansa says with a little laugh. Marg grins at her.

“As long as we don’t meet any Joffrey Baratheons,” she says, “I think we’ll both be fine.” Margaery smirks at her.

"There are some people who say that Sansa and Margaery were lovers," Marg tells her in a low voice, almost seductive. Sansa’s breath hitches in her throat.

_Maybe_ , she thinks, _maybe she feels the same way?_ _Maybe what she’s doing is flirting?_ Sansa has never been able to tell with Marg, but a voice in the back of her mind whispers that it can’t be, that she can’t risk it. Sansa’s made friends at college, but none that she loves being around as much as Margaery. None who make her heart do somersaults and always make her laugh and smile at her like she’s _wonderful._ Sansa doesn’t want to risk losing this by responding the wrong way.

Instinctively, Sansa changes the topic.

“There are so many crazy theories about the War of Five Kings,” she says, though really it’s just nervous babbling, “there are some people that say that Robb Stark was involved with Theon Greyjoy. _Which_ is funny because my brother has a friend named Theon and I really don’t _think_  that there’s ever been anything going on between the two of them, but I don’t really _know.”_ Margaery looks as though she wants to bang her head against the wall, and Sansa’s not really sure which action prompted that reaction. The other woman takes what appears to be a deep breath, and starts to go on about the way that the relationship between Renly Baratheon Loras Tyrell affected the course of the War of Five Kings and everything seems to fall back into its normal place. Except it doesn’t feel like it.

The earlier comment hangs in the air, and Sansa is left with the feeling that she might have just ruined her chances of making this work.

* * *

 

 

It’s a week after what Sansa has taken to calling “the lovers” event. A week of awkward semi-avoidance before Sansa finally stops back by _Tyrell Roses_ the next Thursday. The conversation begins with awkward small talk and avoiding eye contact until it shifts back into more familiar territory. Sansa decides to ask a question that she’s never bothered ask before but has been sitting at the corners of her mind for the three months they’ve known each other.

“ _Tyrell Roses_?” Sansa asks with a bit of a smirk, remisicent of when Marg asked her about her name. The other woman just rolls her eyes.

“It used to be Hightower Flowers,” Margaery says, “but then mum married dad and decided to change it. She thought it would be funny.”

“It kind of is,” Sansa says with a giggle. Something flashes across the other woman’s face, a snap decision or a sort of realization, and then she smiles.

  
“My parents met here,” she says with a soft smile and sort of devious and excited look in her eyes, “my father rushed in one day, begging her to make him a last minute bouquet for his girlfriend. My mother did of course, and they bonded. And he kept in coming in to buy flowers, though he’d broken up with his girlfriend. My mother had to ask him out, because he couldn’t muster up the courage.” Margaery looks intently to her with a smile that causes her eyes to crinkle at the edges.

  
“Marg?” Sansa says with a blush and the other girl just rolls her eyes.   
“I suppose I’ll have to as well,” she says, and she takes a deep breath.

 “Sansa Stark,” she says, “would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Like a date?” Sansa asks, though it’s more of a concerned squeak. There is a part of her heart that is singing the Alleluia chorus, but if she has misread the situation, she’s going to end up with her heart broken.

“Yes,” Margaery says, grasping her hand and looking into Sansa’s eyes.

“Would you like to?” She asks, a hint of both hopefulness and fear in her warm brown eyes.

“Yes,” Sansa says, a breathless sort of quality to her voice, “By the old gods, yes.” Margaery smiles and lets out a sigh of relief.

“You scared me there, Sans,” she says, laughing the way people often do when they escape a stressful situation. Sansa looks to the clock, and realizes that she needs to leave.

She smiles to Margaery, and expects that she’s blushing as well.

“I expect flowers for our first date,” she says as she makes her way to the door. Margaery laughs deeply, another smile making its way across her lips.

“I think I can manage,” she says, and then Sansa smiles at her and closes the door, and the chiming of the bell sounds almost as sweet as Margaery’s laughter.

 

 


End file.
